


No Repeats

by hollybennett123



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Bickering, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Sexual Tension, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-02
Updated: 2016-05-02
Packaged: 2018-06-05 22:37:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6726235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hollybennett123/pseuds/hollybennett123
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Han’s never been very good at denying himself the things he wants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Repeats

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't what I expected to be posting as my first fic of 2016 (nor did I expect that my first fic of the year wouldn't be posted until May...) but here we are! Normally before I write a particular pairing I'll have read a large quantity of fics for them, but in this instance I haven't read any porn at all and my came-out-of-nowhere fondness for Skysolo is based on a few Tumblr posts and various scenes in the original trilogy. It was fun to explore the characters without any real influence from the way they've previously been written and hopefully I'm not too wide off the mark when it comes to how others perceive them.
> 
> My personal headcanon is that Han and Luke were never in a relationship per se beyond friendship, but that they fucked once (or twice or a few times...) to get it out of their systems and resolve the sexual tension; this fic is pretty open ended though and could equally be the start of a something more if that fits better with how you like to view the pairing. Set sometime between episodes IV and V but I'm pretty vague on the specifics. Enjoy ♥

In all the times Han had imagined it – not with the intention of acting on the idea but pure, unreserved fantasy – he’d never expected it to be so damn _easy_.

He’s surprised at his own boldness in the moment before he makes his decision, and he’d almost think he was dreaming if it weren’t for the noise and clatter of the cantina beyond the shadowed corner where they’re sat, grounding and real. Hell, he doesn’t even have to say anything; just stops hiding the want of it, more than anything.

He gives Luke a considering look, obvious and interested, and lifts his chin with a swaggering confidence he doesn’t feel. Luke cocks his head when Han stands up, a flicker of understanding in his eyes, and follows.

It’s not until they step outside that Han really starts panicking because he’d never planned for this; never thought it’d be so easy to ask nor so easy to get. Sure, he’s thought about it – ten, twenty, a hundred times – but it was never something that was supposed to exist outside of his own head.

The walk back to the ship feels twice as far as it had on the way out, and Han can’t remember a time when Luke’s ever been so quiet for so long. It’s a stark contrast to the way he was back at the cantina, leaning onto the table on his elbows and talking at light speed despite being sober as they come, animated and captivating. Han had lounged back in his seat, drinking in the sight of him, weakening his resolve.

(“Here’s yours. You getting something for your boy?” A sly old bartender had asked him some time ago, sliding a drink across the bar with a knowing glance. It isn’t long after he and Luke had first met, but it’s long enough.

“He ain’t _mine_ ,” Han tells xem sharply, snatching up the glass briskly enough that amber liquid sloshes onto the bar, slick on his fingers. He’s angry because it’s not like that, or maybe because there’s a part of him that in some way wishes that it were.

Frustrated, it sticks with him, and later that night Han comes more than once to the thought of fucking the kid stupid; the next day he feels so unexpectedly, irrationally guilty at the memory of it and all the things he’d wanted to do to him that he can hardly even look Luke in the eye, as if somehow he’d know.

It’s irrelevant because Luke’s just some dumb kid who deserves a whole lot better than Han, and Han ain’t ever going to do a thing about it, but – )

Han’s never been very good at denying himself what he wants, and fuck the entirety of the galaxy but he _wants_. Luke’s walking close enough to him that their arms brush with every alternate stride, and there are layers of clothing between them but nevertheless it makes Han want to put his hands all over him. He imagines Luke under him, on top of him, and has to bite down on the edge of his tongue until the pain blooms sharply enough to refocus.

Upon eventually reaching the Falcon, Han hits the lights and closes the door behind them. It’s so quiet inside the belly of the ship, a hollowed out space that keeps the world at bay, that it’s almost as if he can hear his own heartbeat where he can feel it hammering away behind his ribcage.

For one terrifying moment he stops short, convinced that Luke’s going to change his mind and he’s going to have to pilot the ship back in disgraced, frustrated silence with Luke alongside him the whole way. It’s Luke, though, who steps in close and takes hold of Han’s shirt in both fists; looks up at him with raised eyebrows and says “yeah?” clear and convinced as though it could be Han, if anyone, who’s going to want to back out now.

“What d’you think?” Han says gruffly, need finally outweighing nervousness, and kisses him hard enough that they both stumble back a little.

He has to grasp at Luke’s waist to keep him from falling, guiding him out through the corridor and into the sleeping quarters. Once inside he backs Luke up against the wall hard enough to bruise and he’s about to apologise, guilty for being so rough with him, but Luke just moans for it and hauls him in to press their lips together again. Han keeps him pinned in place with his hips, and even with Luke forced up onto his toes Han still has to lean down to kiss him. Luke seems even smaller like this, somehow, crowded in close, and apparently the kid gets real handsy when you rub up against him because Luke’s hands are _everywhere_.

“C’mon,” Luke breathes, “come _on_ ,” and he entwines their fingers and draws Han’s hand between his legs until his knuckles brush against the obvious outline of his cock. Han fumbles with the tie on Luke’s tunic to get it open, palming the hot plane of Luke’s stomach as he slips a hand beneath his waistband, and Luke makes a choked-off sound of relief when Han finally wraps his fingers around the length of him.

“I got you,” Han murmurs, bracing one hand on the wall and slowly jerking Luke off with the other, the feel of him hot and hard against his palm fuelling his own arousal all the more.

Luke tucks his face against Han’s neck, panting hotly against his collarbone, and Han can hardly think straight he’s so turned on. Luke’s not quite a teenager anymore and Han sure hasn’t been for longer than he’d like to admit, but hell if he doesn’t feel like he could go off right here pressed against Luke’s hip if they kept at it long enough.

Fortunately Luke has the presence of mind to move things in another direction, both literally and figuratively. Tugging Han’s hand free with a shuddering exhale he pushes him back across the room until Han’s knees hit the metal frame of one of the beds; he has to twist as he lands so as not to smack his head off the wall, the narrow cot creaking under their combined weight. Holding Han down by one wrist, Luke straddles Han smoothly, a warm weight in his lap as he sets about unfastening a couple more buttons on Han’s shirt.

“What, you think you’re stronger than me?” Han asks him with a smirk, flexing his fingers in Luke’s grip. The hold on him tightens, vice-like, but the thumb Luke skims across the hollow of his palm is unbearably gentle.

The fingers of Luke’s other hand curl into the open vee of Han’s shirt, scratching lightly at his chest, and he pauses and smiles down at him, eyes bright. “I _am_ stronger than you,” he says, affecting a frown like he’s inviting an argument that Han’s determined he’s not going to be drawn into.

“Oh yeah?” Han mutters in return, and says nothing more; hell, it’s probably true, but the kid doesn’t need the ego boost and Han would like retain some illusion of control in this whole situation. 

Luke’s not even listening though, just watching Han with heated curiosity, and when he leans in to brush their mouths together it’s careful and controlled and so entirely different to the earlier urgency that’s been left to simmer for now. He’s infuriatingly slow about it, the barest drag of their lips and flick of his tongue, until Han huffs impatiently and seizes Luke’s hair in one hand, holding him in place so he can turn the kiss as deep and as filthy as he wants it. Luke makes a pleased sound low in his throat and by the time they break apart again Han’s lightheaded, vision swimming as he blinks back into focus.

“Are you going to fuck me?” Luke asks bluntly, a little breathless. His lower lip is plush and wet where Han’s sucked on it a bit, teased it between his teeth.

Han had been trying not to think too far ahead, happy to give or take any offer that’s on the metaphorical table and trying his damnedest not to get his hopes up for something he could never have; now, pleasure curls deep and hot in his stomach at the invitation that underlines the question. _Just this once_ , he thinks. _Why the hell not_. There were reasons, once, why he thought this would be a bad idea, and he finds with only the briefest glimmer of concern that he can’t recall a single one of them.

“I guess I am,” he replies, trying for casual and missing by a mile. “You want it?”

Luke rolls his eyes and resettles his weight in a way that makes Han’s breath hitch. “What, you never thought about it before?” he says, and it’s obvious from his expression that he wouldn’t believe Han if he denied it.

Han remains silent for a moment and slides his hands slowly up Luke’s thighs, watching the fabric of his pants wrinkle and smooth out under the tug of his fingertips. “Once or twice,” he admits once he’s drawn the pause out long enough, and it’s not exactly a lie, even if he has omitted the countless other times that came after. The first time he saw Luke and the first time he imagined Luke on his knees are moments separated by minutes not months.

“I thought about it a lot,” Luke shrugs loosely, honest and open in a way Han could never quite manage himself.

Despite the easy, lax way Luke moves though, there’s so much tension coiled beneath the surface, wound tight and wanting. His eyes are so very dark in a way Han’s never seen them before, the barest rings of blue around the black expanse of his pupils, and Han finds that once drawn in he can’t bring himself to look away. Instead, he exhales slowly and moves his hands to Luke’s waist, drawing one knee up to get a foot on the bed for leverage. Han rolls his hips up slowly as Luke presses down and it’s so shockingly easy to imagine him sinking down onto his cock that he digs his fingers into Luke’s back in a desperate grip, cock jerking in his pants at the mere idea of it.

All the urgency from earlier, temporarily contained, comes flooding back and Han has Luke on his back before he even makes the conscious decision to do so. He nearly sends them both toppling sideways onto the floor in his haste, but Luke just grabs at the sheets, grabs at Han and laughs like it’s nothing.

“You know,” Luke says, “we’re supposed to be back at the base in a half hour.”

The chronometer on the wall confirms it, and Han knows that it’s right even if he wishes that it weren’t. “ _Fuck_ ,” Han groans, and sits back on his heels so he can get at least partially undressed, kicking his boots off and tugging his shirt over his head.

Luke’s propped up on his hands and still wearing his tunic, half-falling off his shoulders in a way that reminds Han of every stupid, cliché fantasy he’s ever indulged in. “Well,” he says cheerfully, kicking his pants onto the floor and hooking a foot around Han’s waist to nudge him back between the inviting sprawl of his bare legs. “Better make it fast, then, I guess?”

It takes a couple of seconds for Han to remember how to breathe, let alone respond to that, swallowing thickly and blinking down at Luke. Luke gives him a mild look of fond exasperation in return and reaches up, his hand cupping the back of Han’s neck in order to pull him in; pressing his forehead briefly to Han’s he kisses him, sweet and slow.

“You ain’t gonna get all mushy on me after, are you kid?” Han teases gently when they part; there’s a slight tremor in his voice, an uncertain vibration shaped around the words, and he’s not entirely sure why or where it came from. Luke gives him a disgruntled look in response that’s impressive even by his own standards, falling back onto the bed with an expression that says he’s judging Han right now and judging him hard. “Alright, alright,” Han mutters and leans over him to go through the storage drawers by the bed. His fingers rattle amongst oils for engines, blasters and the rest, trying to find something suitable and safe for human use while Luke heaves an impatient sigh and lazily slides the inside of his knees against Han’s sides in a way that’s wholly distracting.

“Would you hurry it up?” Luke says. “Probably could’ve found something myself by now.”

“If you want to look yourself, be my guest,” Han grits out. “Could try giving me some kinda help instead of being a damn distraction, do you ever quit your whining?”

With that it feels easier now, somehow: the familiar bickering that lacks any real heat, an argument tossed back and forth for the fun of it.

“I wouldn’t have to whine about it if you went faster,” Luke grouses, even as he’s absently running the flat edge of a fingernail across Han’s stomach to make him shiver. Sometimes Han could swear it’s as if Luke _wants_ to be as unhelpful as possible, and so elects to ignore him as much as he can until eventually, elatedly, he finds what he’s looking for.

When he touches his fingers to the inside of Luke’s thigh his skin radiates warmth as though his blood runs just a little hotter than the average human’s, spilling heat like a star. He can’t help but be curious as to whether it’s a force thing, or simply just a Luke thing, even if it doesn’t really matter either way. Luke pushes up on one hand to unbutton Han’s pants for him, drawing his cock out and giving him a firm stroke from base to tip, and from that point wondering about anything at all suddenly seems significantly more difficult.

Apparently trusting him more than Han had realised, Luke doesn’t even question what Han’s slicking him up with when Han finally slides a finger inside of him; just angles his hips up and melts back against the pillow with a quiet groan. Falling into matching rhythms, Luke keeps on working Han’s cock through the pleasurable grip of his palm all the time that Han’s coaxing him open with his fingers until eventually he nudges at Han’s wrist and says, all patience lost, “c’mon just _do it_.”

Settling back onto the bed and making himself comfortable Luke lets one leg slide over the edge of the bed to make more room for them both, draped so that his toes touch the floor. Han hooks the other over his arm and lines himself up, hands clumsy in his haste, and then at last he's pushing inside in careful increments; he gives a little each time and then eases back until Luke neatly curls his fingers into Han’s belt loops and drags him in so that the final slide home comes all at once.

It knocks the breath from Han’s lungs fleetingly and Luke closes his eyes, tipping his head back with a soft sound of approval. “Careful,” Han says tightly, their hips still pressed flush together. He’s so hard he’s _throbbing_. “Is it -- alright?”

“Yeah,” Luke sighs, opening his eyes again and shifting against the sheets with languid satisfaction, and the word’s barely out of his mouth before Han drags his hips back and pushes forward again because he can’t _not_ ; not now, when Luke wants him to and when every part of Han aches for it.

It’s stupidly, overwhelmingly good, even moreso when Luke rolls his hips up to meet him with every thrust. The rhythm’s all wrong, and then it’s just right, and it doesn’t even matter either way because every movement is like a rush of liquid pleasure, lush and all-consuming. Luke keeps making these breathy groans, swearing under his breath and asking Han to go faster, fuck him _harder_ and it only makes it hotter, doing all kinds of things to Han’s self-control.

The pale curve of Luke’s shoulder and neck are too much of a temptation up close and Han finds that when he uses his mouth there, suction and a slight press of teeth where the skin’s really tender, the kid curses in several languages in succession, some of them from planets Han doesn’t even recognise.

“Are you always this _loud_?” Han asks him, incredulous; he slows momentarily, pulling back and then hovering there on the precipice, making him wait for it.

“Probably,” Luke laughs, and Han can feel the subtle vibration through every part of their bodies where they’re touching.

Ignoring Luke’s attempts to pull him back in properly, Han instead thumbs at the sensitive patch of skin behind Luke’s knee and fucks him with shallow little pulsing movements until Luke makes a noise of absolute exasperation, trying unsuccessfully to arch enough to get Han deeper.

“You’re a real asshole,” Luke complains with a soft exhale of laughter, dragging his fingernails across Han’s back like that’ll help bring him closer. “Would it kill you to be nice to me for once?”

Han smirks at him and stops moving entirely because he never could resist provoking him. “Hey,” he protests, feigning innocence. “I’m _always_ nice.”

“Not that I’ve ever seen,” Luke says, tense with frustration and barely-contained energy, anticipatory. Han takes great pleasure in sinking deep in a slow, inexorable slide, watching Luke’s whole body go lax with relief, the tension draining from his shoulders.

Sighing happily, Luke actually pulls him into a kiss in response like it’s some kind of reward for good behaviour. His fingers card through Han’s hair at the nape of his neck where it’s curling and damp with sweat, tugging a little as they move together; it sends a thrill down Han’s spine, electric and brilliant, and Luke laughs softly at the way Han’s hips stutter in an uneven rhythm.

Bracing himself over him on one hand, Han encircles Luke’s cock with the fingers of the other. He keeps a loose grip, not moving his hand but instead letting him slide through his grip each time they rock together. He intends to be teasing but finds, to his annoyance, that he promptly gives in and tightens his grasp to give Luke exactly what he wants, unable to say no to him when he begs so nicely against his lips, moves so sweetly underneath him.

“Are you close?” Han asks, jacking him fast and smooth, and really, really hopes it’s the case given that he’s not entirely sure he can hold on much longer himself.

“Yeah,” Luke says, and then adds breathlessly, “come on, you should come in me, I want it,” which isn’t helpful in the slightest for Han’s endurance.

Han’s not sure who moves first – whether he’s following Luke’s lead or if it was his own idea – but there’s a shared look, an unspoken agreement and a rearranging of limbs as Luke turns over underneath him and settles on his hands and knees. He gathers the back of Luke’s tunic in his fist, fucking in deep, and finds that taking him like that feels like easing off a brake lever and upping the power: an inevitable increase in speed and the proportional loss of control that comes with it.

“Whatever you do, do _not_ slow down,” Luke pants, fingers curling into the bed.

“Wasn’t planning on it,” Han returns. “Hey -- if I come first,” he adds, seeing as it’s looking highly likely at this point and like hell does he want Luke thinking he’s selfish in this of all things, “I promise I’ll suck you off after. How’s that for _nice_?”

And _that’s_ when Luke comes, spilling onto the sheets with a bitten-off groan, the idea of it apparently enough to tip him over the edge. Han’s too surprised to do much more than ride him through it before he realises he doesn’t actually have to hold back any more; a few more thrusts is enough to finish him off, pressed as deep as he can get.

Han pulls out carefully, chest heaving and still somewhat dazed, and has to sit down on the edge of the bed for a minute before he feels capable of actual speech and movement. He then sets about finding his discarded clothes, wishing wholeheartedly that they had the opportunity to shower before they head off; standing up and pulling his crumpled shirt back on along with his boots, his hands tremble slightly with adrenalin, and the last thing he wants to do is fly the ship back but they should have left ages ago and really can’t hang around any longer.

When Han sits back down on the edge of the bed once again, Luke turns onto his back, carefully avoiding the wet patch and stretching out lazily. His hair is a disaster and his thighs are wet and Han thinks if they had another hour he’d have another go, or maybe hold him down by the hips and suck him off regardless because he wasn’t being entirely selfless in his previous offer and his mouth is wet at the thought of it.

“Hey, kid?” Han says gently, handing Luke his pants. “We’ve really gotta --” and he trails off awkwardly.

“I know,” Luke sighs, though he’s smiling when he sits up and Han can’t help but return it, lips quirking up at one corner. “I know, just give me a minute and I’ll be ready, I swear.” He looks relaxed and content, expression soft, and it’s a good look on him.

Han gets up and heads towards the door to take up his seat in the cockpit.

“One minute,” he agrees and, not trusting his willpower, doesn’t dare look back.

~*~

They’re late getting back to the base as expected and Han takes the blame before Luke can, claiming he lost track of time in the cantina and other vague lies that he only feels mildly guilty about telling. It’s hard to care too much when he feels this _good_.

“You owe me one, kid,” Han scowls at him later when Luke steps into the cockpit of the Falcon where Han’s running maintenance.

“I owe you more than that, remember?” Luke laughs, bright and easy as though nothing’s changed. He folds his arms and leans against the doorframe. “Hey, when you’re ready to cash in those favours, you just let me know.”

Han can’t quite read him; can’t tell whether there’s hidden meaning in the word _favours_ or whether he’s imagining it, but then Luke’s walking away and Han’s staring after him until he disappears from view.

He’s already had to lie once this evening and as Han firmly reminds himself of the words _one time thing_ he can’t help but wonder whether he’s just told himself another.

**Author's Note:**

> I also post links to my fics on my [Tumblr](http://hollybennett123.tumblr.com/post/143739326428/fic-no-repeats-han-sololuke-skywalker) should you enjoy liking and reblogging fic-related stuff over there :)


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